Just Bully
by LadyDivine91
Summary: Len has an unusual method of helping his daughter get over being bullied (after the fact) that Barry does not approve of, which leads to a heart to heart talk between husband and husband about the bullies in their own lives. Coldflash. Barry Allen, Leonard Snart.


**Takes place in the same universe as my one-shot "The Talk", where Lisa is Len and Barry's eight-year-old daughter by Felicity. I really liked the idea of Len being a father while still being sort of morally ambiguous, so I'll probably write more in this universe.**

 **Warning for mention of bullying and light angst.**

"Are these the ones?" Lisa asks, skipping up to the display and pulling a bag of dog treats from the shelf.

"Yup. Those are the ones, Bug." Len puts a hand on his daughter's shoulder, squeezing reassuringly. Standing beside them, silently disapproving, Barry crosses his arms over his chest.

"And are you _sure_ they're made of what you said they're made of?" Lisa turns shrewd blue eyes up at him, raising a skeptical eyebrow that's so reminiscent of Barry, Len almost laughs and scotches the seriousness of this shopping excursion.

"Scout's honor." He raises a hand and some combination of fingers that are supposed to look like the Boy Scout salute but don't even come close. In fact, what he comes up with looks a little obscene, so Barry grabs Len's hand and lowers it. "At least, that's what your Uncle Mick told me."

"A-ha." Even at eight, Lisa knows better than to believe most of the things that Uncle Mick says are true, but she's willing to let this one slide to make her father feel better. "Okay!" she chirps, cheerfully playing along. "Let's go get them! And remember, _I'm_ paying."

"If that's what you want," Len concedes, even though he has every intention of returning every last cent to her somehow - through random chores, or quizzes on things they don't teach her at school, important things like the five places most people commonly hide their valuables, how to jump start a car, Russian insults, or Len's favorite – target practice.

Len focuses on his little girl hugging the pack of dog treats to her chest, but still manages to notice his husband glaring, his sparking eyes burning holes into Len's forehead. When a fork of supercharged static electricity fries his palm, Len jolts, but he squeezes Barry's hand tighter.

Call Len a masochist, but he _loves_ the sizzle.

"What?" Len asks innocently, dragging his sullen husband to the checkout counter.

"Why do you feel the need to lie to our daughter like this? The situation's handled. This is entirely unnecessary."

"It's one harmless little fib. And it's not even. It's more like a coping mechanism. Besides, if you think she's buying it for a second, then you don't know our daughter."

"It still feels like a lie."

"And knowing you, you'll make sure she knows it before she has too much fun with it. You get to perpetuate the Santa Claus lie. I get this one."

"Santa Claus is different."

"And _why_ is it different? Because it's _nice_?" Len hisses the word _nice_. He _always_ hisses that word. It seems to offend him.

"Yes." Barry's voice breaks around hypocrisy he never saw before, but he defends it anyway. Believing in Santa Claus is a time-honored tradition. Barry's mother introduced him to Santa Claus, and regardless of the fact that his own curious and scientific mind negated that belief in his young brain fairly quickly, he held onto it because of her, because sometimes children need to believe in something, _anything_ , to get them through the rough patches. He's not going to let Len besmirch that, even using tools that Barry himself holds dear, like truth and logic.

"Well, I personally think that the concept of Santa Claus should terrify children," Len counters, "but _I_ didn't get a say in that one."

"How? Santa Claus is a kindly old man …"

"… who breaks into people's houses."

"To deliver presents to good girls and boys," Barry points out, except now that he thinks about it, he can see why that might terrify a little kid. He suddenly thanks his husband's sardonic judgment that they ruled out telling Lisa about the Tooth Fairy. An adult with wings who comes into your room at night and steals your teeth? No thank you. "You don't think it's vulgar that you're letting your daughter believe that Bully Treats are made from _real bullies_? That what her German Shephard puppy is going to be tearing apart is the hide of some kid about her age?"

"Nope," Len says resolutely. "In fact, I think it'll be kind of cathartic. Don't you?"

"No, I think it's nightmare fuel. I think it'll turn into us never sleeping alone again."

Len chuckles. "I think you're forgetting that _she_ moved _herself_ out of our bedroom _long_ before you even wanted her gone. She's a strong kid, Barry. Give her a little credit."

"I still think it's too gruesome for an eight-year-old."

"Why? Because there wasn't anyone in your life that picked on you and pushed you around when you were her age? No one that made fun of you?" Len lowers his voice. "No one that you imagined being torn to pieces? Who maybe took someone _important_ away from you?" Len feels Barry's breathing stop dead, as if it's lodged in Len's own throat; the hand in his becoming rigid, and hot with latent electricity. "And after those dreams were done, how did you sleep? Huh? Like a baby, right? Come on, Bare. You know what that feels like. So do I."

"That's … that's not fair, Len. What happened to us … it's not the same as some obnoxious little kid calling her names." Barry sighs from the depths of his soul. Len pulls him closer, and Barry rests his head against his husband's shoulder. When Barry found out that some punk had been picking on Lisa at school, he knew he had to do the responsible thing - meet with Lisa's teacher and the boy's parents, iron this out like calm, rational educators and adults. But in his heart, he wanted to race down to that school and run that kid up a flagpole, let him hang there fifty feet in the air, blowing in the wind like the piece of garbage he was. And not just because he had picked on Lisa, but for all of the kids everywhere who had ever been picked on by a bully, especially when their bullies got away with it. He wanted this kid to know, and every other kid at that school, that he'd gone after the wrong daughter. Barry knew that it would have made Len proud. Himself, not so much. "I just feel that it might be a bit more reassuring for her to know that her teacher had been talked to and the boy transferred to a different school. That the people in power had her back and appropriate steps were taken to keep her safe. That …"

"The system works?" Len scoffs.

"Yes," Barry says, even though he can understand Len's irritation. The system rarely works. It didn't for them – not when Lewis Snart's son went to school covered in bruises every other day, and the CCPD, Barry's own surrogate family, didn't believe a word out of his mouth about what happened the night his mother died. The system worked this time, but that's because it had a little help.

That might not happen again, when Lisa is older and on her own.

"And why is it again that _The Flash_ talked to Lisa's teacher and not Barry Allen, CSI?"

"Because people respond to superheroes," Barry says, feeling called out. " _The Flash_ is someone that Central City can stand behind. He carries a little more weight than Barry Allen, CSI."

"Well, for the record, I happen to think that Barry Allen, CSI, is just as much of a superhero as _The Flash_ ," Len says at a volume that only Barry can hear.

Barry smiles. For all of his cynicism, his snide remarks, and his highly questionable judgment, Len really knows how to get to Barry. "Well, I also didn't want to make it an issue of us against this kid. I wanted to represent all of the kids that he's bullied."

"And the fact that Mrs. Gastmyer would drop her panties in a second for _The Flash_ probably didn't hurt," Len accuses with a growl. It's not an angry growl. It's a playful growl. A _I can't wait till later when I can rip off all of your clothes with my teeth_ growl.

"It's the suit. People respect the suit. It's the same thing with doctors and their white coats."

"I also think the whole _saving people's lives_ factors into that a little bit."

"Hmm. Maybe," Barry agrees. "Anyway, we've gotten off topic. If this is _your_ big lie … I mean, _coping mechanism_ … why do you expect me to eventually tell her the truth?"

"Because, like you said, _you're_ the superhero," Len teases. "And besides, since you're handling the 'sex talk', I figured that bull dicks fall under your purview."

"You know, you threw Mick under the bus for this one. We could just make him do it."

"Yeah, well, that depends on how much new and colorful information you want our daughter to learn before she turns nine. She might have to transfer schools, too."

Barry scowls, recalling the last time Mick came over. Somehow, and Barry has no clue _how_ , the subject of shanks came up. Thanks to Mick, Lisa now knows how to transform innocuous plastic cutlery into weapons, a skill she shared at The Boys and Girls Club to the amusement of no one. "You're right," Barry groans. "I'll tell her … but I'll give it a few weeks."

"That's all I ask."


End file.
